


Chrysalism

by atomiccourier



Series: Atom I.C. Courier [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Original Character Death(s), Past Character Death, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomiccourier/pseuds/atomiccourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Courier reflects on the fate of his existence during a rare bout of actual weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalism

#### Chrysalism - n. The _amniotic_ tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

#### Amniotic - a. Relating to, or having, an _amnion._

#### Amnion - n. Anatomy, Zoology. The innermost of the embryonic or fetal membranes of reptiles, birds, and mammals; the sac in which the embryo is suspended.

* * *

It doesn’t rain much in the desert. ‘Else why’d they call it a desert? There’s something Cass once told you about; how the mountains block the clouds, and only the biggest shitstorms make it through. Well, the mountains hold the desert, and the desert holds the strip, and the strip holds the Lucky 38, and the Lucky 38 has a cocktail lounge, in which there is a circle of booths, one of which holds you. Even as blinding flashes of light make you squint weakly, you stay curled up there, because the material of the booth sticks against your cheek, and you can convince yourself that that is enough to make you stay. 

You know you were never born. You were created, spontaneously, in the missing space of a bullet hole in the brain tissue of a dying courier. You were, honestly, a complete accident. Meant to be a death instead of a life. You gained where there was loss, even as you replaced that which was lost. It was a fact of your being. There was loss everywhere in the Mojave, so you thrived. Lightening flashed.

Living things grow because they take in matter through ingestion, respiration, and the like. You grow because you take in the empty spaces where matter used to be. Missing people, missing resources, missing opportunities. You removed emptiness, filling the space with somethingness, and people were happy, and you, your influence, your identity, grew. Thunder cracked.

No doubt the level of property damage and death count would be high. Floods, fires, lightning strikes. Disaster. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not in the right kind of way. There would be problems. Months of problems. Hundreds of _problems_. And _You_ would fix them. Organize funds to fix water damage. Gather supplies for the followers’ stash which would no doubt be depleted. List them. Walk their lines. Learn their lessons. Complete. Repeat. Profit. Grow. You think that if life were good in the Mojave, you’d be known as a desert-wide troublemaker. Because you hunger for emptiness. You consume emptiness. Even if you have to make it yourself.

It is in this way the thunderstorm sustains you. You need it, as much as the people need you. It is here you lay, tiny yet significant, while the storm swirls, raging about your encasing. And it is here you figure that the thunderstorm might as well be your mother. Because in the end, she will only be known for her influence. The damage she causes. The empty spaces she leaves. And here she sustains you. Cares for you. Even if to step into her arms means danger of death. Especially because stepping into her arms means danger of death.

The thunderstorm is exactly the kind of person who would create you. Cultivate you. Mother you. Craft the world into shape for you. Make the desert into your throne.

Only the largest storms make it into the desert. Only the deadliest folks make their way in the Mojave. And only the emptiest people sit awake to watch people scramble to save their life’s work in drenching rain because they’re too lazy to remove the side of their face from a sticky pre-war sofa.

You might even deserve the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom, and first real fic in a long time. I'd appreciate some constructive criticism if you can spare it.
> 
> Thank you to tumblr user iloveabbys for beta-ing!


End file.
